


Hiding in Plain Sight

by Militia



Series: Jaster Mereel - Clone Template [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Jango Fett is Mand'alor, Mandalorian Culture, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, clan wars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26895787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Militia/pseuds/Militia
Summary: "For all he knew, it wasn’t Jaster. Something deep-set inside him didn’t agree."
Relationships: Adonai Kryze & Satine Kryze, Jango Fett & Adonai Kryze
Series: Jaster Mereel - Clone Template [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942387
Comments: 23
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, Great thanks to Reyiosa for Beta-ing this ch, did a brilliant job of it so thank you so much for all your work!

“Mand’alor!”

Jango took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, before slowly spinning on his heel to face the newcomer who wanted his attention. Couldn’t go five minutes today without someone wanting something from him.

“What.”

He wasn’t sure he recognised the colours, but already Myles was stepping in front of him to stop the caller in their tracks before they could get too close. Pulling short before they ran helmet first into his chest, they peered around him, one arm reaching forward to hold out their pad for the taking.

“I think you need to see this.” Even through the modulator in their helmet, the newcomer sounded like they’d run from across the camp to thrust the datapad at him. What could possibly be that urgent that they felt like he needed to see immediately?

Maybe it was the cynicism talking, but Jango was not in the mood for the clans here to already be back at each other's throats when he’d only just managed to come in and force them all to stand down with minimal injuries. The last thing he wanted to deal with was possible casualties because none of them could take a break long enough to sleep and let cooler heads prevail.

He chose to ignore the voice in his head that suspiciously sounded like his buir, that commented in his smug mannerisms that Jango  _ clearly wouldn’t know what that would be like at all. _

Instead, he cautiously reached to grab the pad, finding it open on some video feed from the Republic, feeding general information Jango could honestly care less about. When he glared up at the messenger, they were nodding almost desperately for him to keep watching. He sighed and let his gaze drop. Now from behind him, Myles came up to peer over his shoulder to watch as well.

“—calling it the Battle of Geonosis—“ 

“—certainly seems that way, in the wake of this movement by the so-called ‘Separatists’’ the Chancellor has had no choice but to prepare for an all-out war—“

“—the Jedi are taking lead in this campaign against the enemy, as Generals and High Officers of the GAR—“

“—are they even qualified—“

“—where will they find willing soldiers—“

“—draft?—

Over and over, voices of reporters sensationalising and ruminating on ‘what it means for the Republic to be at war’ grated on Jango’s nerves. Surely this wasn’t near important enough that he ‘just had to see it right now.’

Then the feed changed again.

Beside him, Myles took a sharp breath. Jango couldn’t bring himself to look away, not entirely sure of what he was seeing.

“Clones,” Myles muttered. “They’ve, they’ve got to be.”

Jango almost threw the pad at him, desperate to get it away and out of his sight. Rubbing a hand over his jaw, he closed his eyes and forced his lungs to take slow breaths even through the shaking. He still couldn’t help but see his father’s face, reflected a thousand times over, sitting on the back of his eyelids.

He might be furious. He could also be upset. Out of the two, the anger was the emotion he could use, so he focused on it.

“How—“ he took a breath against the tight ball in his chest. “How did this even happen?”

Myles was already tapping through the data pad, scouring through what information the news had. Jango watched him, eyes tight, refusing to allow himself any hope. If he were wrong, if he let his hopes rise only to come crashing down all over again... He’d said goodbye once before, he wasn’t sure he was prepared to do it again.

He’d searched, after Galidraan. He’d searched for Jaster, for years, and hadn’t found the slightest evidence he’d made it off that field alive.

Scoffing with infuriated disgust, Myles threw the datapad away from himself, sending it clattering against the corner of the crate where it hadn’t quite managed to make it on top. it was probably broken if the flickering light was any indication. Jango would have to make sure that the messenger got a new one.

“Nothing, there’s nothing helpful whatsoever on any of their ‘information sites’. It’s all just complete banthashit about Coruscant and the Chancellor and the Jetiise.”

Jango’s mouth twisted into an almost-snarl at Myles’ words. He’d expected them, but they still frustrated him.  Crossing his arms over his chest, his gloves squeaked from where they clawed into the steel of his vambraces. He grit his teeth, thinking.

“Do we know anything about them—” He glared at Myles before he could be interrupted. “Anything aside from the obvious, you di’kut.”

“No, everything those—“ Myles’s face screwed up a bit again “-— _ reporters  _ were saying, they’re all focused on everyone else. No one had any idea where they came from, or who they could have been cloned from.”

Jango started to pace in an attempt to work off some of the tension building up from the neck down. He couldn’t go and demand answers from everyone, not right now. As much as it infuriated him, he had to stay and see this campaign through, and then return to Manda’yaim to further help his Jorad’alor maintain the tenuous peace that had been found between the Ha’at Mando’ade and the New Mandalorians. It was tenuous at best and required his full attention. Now wasn’t a time he could afford to be distracted by a wild ghost hunt out to random planets for answers on a dead man.

For all he knew, it was just someone that looked similar. It had been years,years of searching and listening. The Galaxy was a big place but there were only so many options he could have been taken prisoner from Galidraan, especially after the jetiise swarmed in and forced them out.

For all he knew, it wasn’t Jaster. Something deep-set inside him didn’t agree.

No. Jango had to stay. Mandalore couldn’t afford to lose its Mand’alor right now. Not on the mere possibility this might not be a wild ghost hunt. Even if it felt like it killed a piece of him buried deep inside.

He swung around on his heels again. Myles brow was already rising, eyes pinching, as he waited to see what Jango had come up with now.

“I can’t go,” Jango finally muttered, breaking the quiet of the room. Myles nodded his understanding. “I’m not sure I trust anyone else with this.”

Another nod. “I’ll find out, Jango. Everything I can, I’ll find out.”

Some of the tension in Jango’s shoulders loosened a fraction. They’d know. It wouldn’t be now, might not even be soon, but they’d know. They’d know if it was Jaster’s DNA being cloned. They’d know why, and how.

For now, Jango just had to focus on what he needed to be doing. Everything else could come later.


	2. Chapter 2

Jango did not want to deal with the angry little Kryze he could see out the port window, glaring a hole into the side of his ship. Biting back a groan, forcing his head to stay upright instead of dropping back to stare skywards, he took a deep breath, glad his helmet would hopefully hide his expression from the fierce little ad’ike. Why couldn’t Adonai be here to give him whatever lecture he needed to receive? At least if the Duke pissed him off, they’d just have a scuffle over it, and he’d be able to get out some of the frustration in his system.

Jango braced himself to dig quick to bury whatever anger this ‘meeting’ gave him.

Beside him, Rav Bralor pursed her lips, and clapped his shoulder a few times.The ship rocked, settling down onto its landing feet. Rav went first out the door. Taking a few extra seconds to himself, Jango finally swung his weight forward to follow her out toward their welcoming party.

As soon as his feet hit the ground, he found himself with a face-full of angry Kryze, bare millimetres from his visor, breath fogging against the tint.

“Yes?”

The blonde looked ready to hit him. Wouldn’t though. It would have gone against her whole  _ pacifist _ thing.

“That mission could have been solved without nearly as many casualties as—”

His leather glove squeaked behind his back as he gripped his vambrace tight, settling into a loose parade stance as he let her prattle on. He knew full well that mission could have ended with less casualties, but he didn’t exactly ask for Death Watch to send in suicide runners to take out his verde. 

“—innocents caught in the crossfire—”

_ Breathe in, nice and slowly. Hold it in for a few beats. And out, nice, and slow. _

“—how many civilians– did you even think of them before going in with your guns blazing—”

He wondered idly if the paint on the ship across the hangar was new. He wasn’t sure he’d seen that nose art before.

“—do you really think the best example you could have set was attacking without proper precedent—”

“Satine!”

A deep voice cut through her rant like a cleaver through water. Jango let out his next breath slowly, turning to take in the glare Adonai was sending his daughter. Her chin jut out at a stubborn angle. 

Terrific. A family argument. Just what he wanted to be in the middle of right now.

From behind the Duke, Rav flickered her eyes over Jango, likely taking note of any tenseness in his posture. No doubt so she could let Myles know later, when he had time to comm. Just what Jango needed, a mother Tooka on his case from half a galaxy away.

Huffing, the kid opened her mouth before being quelled with a sharp look from her buir, and an even sharper, “Later.”

Well, at least the argument brewing there wasn’t going to involve him. He hoped.

“Mand’alor.” The Duke dipped his head, fist coming up to chest in greeting.

Replying in kind, Jango tilted his head, cracking his neck side to side to stave off some of the tension he could feel creeping up. Even for a Mandalorian, wearing a helmet for days on end could cause some serious cricks.

With one more glance between Jango and his daughter, Adonai dipped his head to the side. An ask for Jango to join him. Jango took the escape gladly, leaving the furious ad’ike behind.

“Heard the campaign was a tough one.” Adonai’s voice was almost too even. It made Jango want to clock him.

“You could say that.”

Kryze hummed neutrally in answer.silence fell between the two as they walked. Jango was too exhausted to care much where beyond the fact they were entering the main building in a slight back-route, and keeping his awareness up in case of any surprises. One surprise bombing and three separate subsequent attacks, had taught him to always be ready to fight. Even heading in through back entrances, and walking through side routes of the building, he rarely lowered his guard, and it was wearing down his temper to an even shorter fuse.

“Do we have records of all the casualties?”

Sighing, Jango nodded, a weight settling harder on his shoulders. “Already sent ahead. The clan’s should be alerted before nightfall, if they haven't already.”

This time the silence was heavy with grief. It had been the first campaign in a long time to see a death toll that high, and an injury rate of that magnitude.

Speaking of. “Injuries?” the Duke asked.

“Anyone critical would have been on the first ship to touch down. Beyond that, the medics did the best they could on the field.” But not everyone had walked away fully intact. Plenty of warriors wouldn’t see another campaign on the ground again. Not without aid, and that aid had a backlist a parsec long. Too many injuries, and not enough time to let them heal, or get them fitted for prosthetics.

Too many people needed help that Mandalore just couldn’t offer.

Vaguely Jango registered that they’d left the hangar far behind, and were circling around toward his rooms.

A hand on his shoulder drew Jango to a halt. Kryze regarded him with a drawn expression, mouth a hard line.

It was time for this conversation then.

“So,” the Duke started, eyes turning to glance up at the ceiling. “Clones.” 

“Clones,” Jango echoed.

Jango slowly reached up, pulled his bucket off, and held it against his hip, meeting Adonai’s eyes head-on.

There was a heavy pause.

“Jango—”

Lips twisting, Jango turned his head to glare at the wall beside him. The Duke fell quiet for a moment.

“They’re the army for the Republic.” Adonai’s voice was soft, going over what little information Jango already knew. “It’s being said that they’re no better than droids. Made to fight, and die, for their war.”

That, Jango hadn’t been aware of.

“No one seems to know where they came from. Or how they came to be—”

“Except for the Jedi,” Jango said, meeting his eyes squarely.

With a tick in his jaw, Kryze lowered his head in agreement. “What are you planning to do, Jango?”

Silence fell between them once more as Jango thought carefully over his next words.

“I’m going to find out where they came from—” his eyes flickered for a second, scanning Adonai’s face “—and who.”

“Jango.” Adonai breathed in sharply, mouth twisting. “You know this is going to be another point of contention from Satine if it causes you to shirk your duties—”

“If I shirk my duties, she’ll have to get in line to beat sense into me,” he informed the Duke drily.

A beat passed in quiet.

“Well,” Adonai started. “Whatever you do find, I hope you’re prepared for it. The last thing we need is for you to be taking insult from the Republic.”

_ The last thing we need, is for you to declare war against their army. _

Jango would argue if he didn’t also recognise the truth there. Mandalore was barely over the hump of getting through its own clan wars. Whatever was going on—with the clones, and the Republic, and the Jetiise— he needed to be able to keep a level head about it.

“Good thing I’ve had practice with your ad’ike then isn’t it?” he asked wryly, clapping Kryze on his shoulder, before turning to start walking again.

With a weary sigh, the man followed. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’s still convinced the clans can be brought under without violence.”

Jango snorted. “She has read our history hasn’t she?”

“Satine believes Mandalorians can change—”

Rolling his eyes, Jango let the topic go, well-aware he was arguing with the wrong Kryze about it anyway. 

Quiet fell, as both men mulled over their thoughts.

“What will you do if...?” Adonai’s half-finished question rang through the air, piercing straight through the heart of the complication.

Jango let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening their grip around the bottom edge of his helmet.

His voice was quiet when he spoke again.

“I know it’s not him. For all we know, it’s just a very close look alike.”

He was left to speak in his own time, the silence between the men stretching as he wrestled over what to say.

“I know, it’s not him—”

His jaw ticked. beside him, Adonai took in a breath.

“But,” was all the man said. Jango gave a wry quirk of his lips.

“But,” he agreed. After all, what could he do but have a flicker of hope every time he saw a shadow of his buir on camera, on some distant planet.


	3. Chapter 3

Jango found himself caught again by Adonai after their meetings finally ended. Both he and the Duke had been wrung dry from everyone’s arguing and petty squabbling. Passion might be something Mandalorians strived for, but hell if Jango didn’t sometimes wish they had a touch less.

“I believe this is for you.” The Duke held a comm out, brow raised and expression suspiciously blank.

With a frown, Jango grabbed it to read the message.

_ Possible lead. Besalisk. Information broker. Runs a local restaurant. One of the Jedi on Geonosis met him after hit on a Senator by unknown merc wearing beskar. Checking it out. Will send update with any new information. M _

“Myles was a good choice, he’s good at what he does. But are you sure he can be objective with this...” The man paused, gathering his thoughts before correcting himself. “Do you trust him to not be rash about anything?”

“He can handle himself,” Jango finally said after a pause.

Meeting the Duke’s eyes, he was glad that at least this wasn’t another fight he had to have today. He kept moving, putting as much distance between himself and those blasted meeting rooms as he could before–

“Mand’alor!”

_ Of kriffing course. _

Rolling his eyes hard enough to feel a twinge, Jango just barely held back a snarl of frustration.

Pre Viszla was running up to him, helmet tucked under his arm. Once he reached them, the young man dipped his head and thumped a fist against his chest in acknowledgement. Jango returned a reluctant dip of his own.

“Alor, the Armourer’s asking after you, as soon as you’re able.”

Jango bit back a sigh. It was hardly the kid’s fault. The Armourer was threatening without needing to say a word. Most people would have taken her request as urgent. Jango just wished it had been made the next day. There was nothing he wanted more than to barricade himself in his rooms for a couple hours of sleep. But he couldn’t disrespect her by ignoring her though.

With a sharp nod, he dismissed Vizsla. Then he turned to the Duke, who gripped Jango’s shoulder.

“Take your time and rest, Jango. Oh, and do give the Armourer my regards, would you? I haven’t had the chance to speak to her for a while now.”

Jango bowed his head, but Kryze just had to open his mouth once more.

“And have fun with your new meeting.”

Jango would be mature. He would not screw his face up, or give in to that childish urge to stick his tongue out at the man as he started to wander off, free from  _ his _ responsibilities for the moment. He would take the mature road.

He stuck his helmet on, and  _ then _ screwed his nose up at Kryze’s retreating back.

Walking through the corridors and halls, crossing the courtyard, he made his way to the Armourer’s forge. He had no doubt she’d still be working, even this late in the day, He guessed he was about to find out what her vague summons were about.

As he drew closer, he could hear the beat of her hammer. 

Just as he approached the entrance the beating stopped. Then came the hiss as she lowered whatever piece she’d been working on into water to cool it. She wouldn’t abandon her work mid-task. Their armour—their shells—were too important to get right for the work to be interrupted. So Jango made his way to a mat near the raging circular fire burning in the centre of the room. Kneeling down, he made himself comfortable to wait, watching her idly as she worked.

It was easy to lose time like this. In the Armourer’s presence, with her physical prowess, and awareness, there’d be no surprise visitors while she worked. Here, she was the Krayt, and this forge was her den. Her work was protected and safe, as long as she could still swing her tools.

“Mand’alor.”

The Armourer’s voice was soft. When Jango was a child, Jaster had to correct his assumption that someone who sounded soft had the same kind of shell.

“Armourer.” He ducked his head in greeting, neck cricking a bit with the extra weight of his bucket. 

She knelt in front of him, the eyes of her helmet glinting in what little light the entrance behind him produced. The rest of her was a darkened silhouette in front of her flames.

“The clone army of the Republic. What are you planning to do?”

The light glinted, wrapping around the curves of her helm and pauldrons, and the small studs sticking out of the latter. Perhaps it was a tradition of her aliit, but he would not dare dishonour her by asking.

“I’ve sent one of my men to track down leads on any information on it that isn’t public knowledge.”

Head tilting her acknowledgement, the Armourer considered him for a moment.

“And if you don’t like what they find?”

Jango took a breath. It was easier here, to take her word as it was. She spoke plainly, and it eased something in him that had wound tighter with every word he’d heard from a politician that day.

He took his time to think through her question, and come up with an answer. He would do his best to honor her truth with his own. 

“I don't know,” he finally said. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Her silence felt like neither condemnation nor acceptance. Jango felt grateful for it. 

“I think it could break me, to have that hope taken away again,” he added.

There was a beat, before she spoke again.

“Do you truly believe your soul so weak, as to break at an unexpected blow?” She continued, interrupting him before he could do more than open his mouth. “No. You are a Mandalorian. You are our Mand’alor. This will not break you, unless you allow it. Your soul is mandokarla, and strong as beskar. Bend, if the hit lands. Do not allow yourself to break.”

He dipped his head, but did not speak. He would do his best, but he would not lie to her. What she did or did not see of him, he would not lie to her now. Not when he couldn’t be certain that his final actions would reflect well on her judgement. She could only ever see so much of people, and even Jango found himself at odds with what he might be pressed to do when his emotions ruled over his head.

With one final moment shared, she bowed her head, then rose and returned to her work. Jango took another breath, to give him time to settle the nerves that had come alight during their conversations, before taking his leave. Behind him, the beat of her hammer echoed as she moulded another piece.

He walked to the beat of Mandalore’s heart.


End file.
